"I will think of it. When I read the accounts in the papers, I thought I should like to assist you," he said slowly. "But it is impossible to-night. Zena is not here. I am an incomplete machine without her. You must have realized that, Wigan, by this time." I have intimated before that the empty room, the listening for inspiration, and Quarles's faith in Zena's questions did not impress me very much. His excuse now I took as an intimation that he wanted to be alone. "I will call at Mrs. Barrymore's to-morrow," I said as I rose to go. "That's right; Lantern House, Richmond. And, by the way, Mr. Hastings--that is your name, remember--my granddaughter does not call herself Zena Quarles, but Mary Corbett. I have an old friend, Mrs. Corbett, and she has lent her name and her address for letters. Mrs. Barrymore may have heard of me from her mother, and mine is not a name easily forgotten. Besides----" "I understand. You would help Mrs. Barrymore without her knowing it." "There may be another reason. One does not advertise his financial difficulties if he can help it." "Professor, we are friends," I said, with some hesitation. "If you want----" "No, no," he answered quickly, "I do not want to borrow yet. Thank you all the same, Wigan. Good night. And don't forget you are in love with Mary Corbett." On the following afternoon I went to Richmond, having supplied myself with some surveying instruments to support the part I was to play. This was unnecessary, perhaps, but I like to be on the safe side. I was excited. I was in love, there was no pretense about it, and if I could contrive to let Zena see the reality through the pretense, so much the better. Lantern House, which had grounds running down to the river, was large, rambling, and parts of it were very old, contemporaneous with the old Palace of Richmond, it was said. A small cupola in the central portion of the building, possibly once used for star gazing, may have suggested the name. Zena evidently expected me, for the servant, without making any inquiry, showed me into a room opening on to the gardens at the back. Zena rose hastily from a writing-table and hurried to meet me. "George!" she exclaimed. I caught both her outstretched hands in mine. "Dearest!" She turned quickly, a color in her cheeks, and then I saw that we were not alone. A lady had risen from a chair at the end of the room, and came forward. "This is George Hastings, Mrs. Barrymore," Zena said. "Well, Mr. Hastings, you may kiss her if you like. I shall not be shocked," and she laughed good-humoredly. "Mary told me that you might come, and I am interested in the man she honors. So many girls make fools of themselves, and marry worthless specimens. Outwardly, I see nothing to take exception to in you. Your character----" "I think Mary is satisfied," I said. "So it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, eh?"